


The Union of Maedhros

by LiveOakWithMoss



Series: Punching out my dancelines [41]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bachelor Parties, DWMP verse, Disasters, M/M, Modern AU, Weddings, it may culminate in grand larceny though, it will probably not culminate in hills of the dead but it's early days yet, more a series of vignettes than a chaptered work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-24 20:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10749117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: What do a wedding and a doomed alliance of the first age have in common? Let's find out.





	1. New League and Common Council

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Союз Маэдроса](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666290) by [rio_abajo_rio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rio_abajo_rio/pseuds/rio_abajo_rio)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In those days Maedhros son of Fëanor lifted up his heart and also a ring, perceiving that Fingon would almost certainly probably not say no. Yet in the time that followed, wedding planning would destroy them and their families both, one by one, if they could not again unite and make new league and common council. So the two of them began counsels for the raising of fortunes (because Feanor's eldest son would not be married in some crappy civic center, no, he would not have it, do you hear me Fingolfin) and the raising of many glasses of wine, in hopes that the Union of Maedhros to Fingon might actually be a thing, provided they didn't decide to elope.
> 
> Which he really thinks they should."

Maedhros suggested, for the fifth time that month and the second time that day, that they elope.

“No way,” said Fingon. “I want to demonstrate, before the eyes of god and all those we hold dearest, how truly committed I am to loving you for the rest of my life.” 

Maedhros gave him a look.

“Fine,” said Fingon. “I want to marry the shit out of you while your dad has to sit still and take it.” 

Maedhros laid his head down on the binder marked ‘Seating for ~~World War III~~ Fëanorion-Nolofinwion Wedding’ and sighed. They were surrounded by pieces of paper and crumpled notes and Fingon was buried in his laptop looking up Pintrest boards of table settings. Next to Maedhros’s head were several pages of flowers and their meanings that Finrod had sent over, illustrated and beautifully hand-lettered with attached samples. Every flower Maedhros had liked had turned out to symbolize death and he was feeling grumpy about it. 

Fingon placed an origami duck in Maedhros’s hair as consolation and returned to the laptop.

“Why duck,” said Maedhros, not moving.

“It’s a place setting option,” said Fingon, scrolling.

“Why duck.”

“Because my sister can’t manage a crane.”

“Oh,” said Maedhros. "Wouldn't Turgon be a better candidate for fiddly papercraft?"

"Definitely, but he quit in high dudgeon after I insulted his doves."

"Oh," said Maedhros again. He watched as Fingon squinted at the screen, rubbed his eyes tiredly, then stole Maedhros’s glasses off his face and squinted again.

Maedhros sat up, squinting himself but in an appreciative way. “Hey, that’s a good look on you.”

“Ha ha,” said Fingon, pulling the glasses off and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes as Maedhros stood to scrape papers together. “It can’t be my look, it’s your look. If we overlap, how will people tell us apart?”

“Good point,” said Maedhros, bending down a foot to kiss the top of Fingon’s head. “What’s made you desperate enough to co-opt my aesthetic?”

“I'm trying to figure out _our_ aesthetic. If I have to look at another mason jar of tea roses and ivy I’m going to eat this picturesque hemlock centerpiece.”

“Save Socratic suicide for the reception and help me with the seating chart instead.” Maedhros flicked open the binder. Pages of names with cryptic symbols next to them and large red annotations flipped past.

Fingon groaned. “Are those your dad’s notes?”

“Yes. He sent them over last night and then faxed a few more this morning. Don’t give me that look, you knew what you were getting into. There are just a lot of people that will be there that my father…can’t be near.” Maedhros took his glasses back and peered at a supplementary folder. “And apparently another 50 I’ve never heard of. Who is this Glaurung person and why is he on our list?”

“It’s my dad’s list,” said Fingon. “There are might be a few political invitees here – Now who’s giving who a look? Glaurung’s a donor that Dad’s trying to get a better read on, and he was only in town this weekend so I said he could invite him…”

“Fingon.” 

“I know we said no politics at the wedding but sometimes social events are an excellent venue for political leverage and – ”

“You don’t have to tell _me_ , I grew up on leveraging fourth birthday parties for political capital. You just told me to smack you if you ever started acting like my father.” 

“Smack me later, it’ll be my reward for getting through seating charts.” 

"If anything, I'm proud of your - Smack you where?"  

Fingon didn't answer but flicked another origami duck at him. Maedhros toyed with it and considered how good Fingon looked slumped moodily over the table. “Okay. So where are we putting this Glaurung person?” 

“Not a family table, but somewhere adjacent to my dad, I guess.” Fingon looked at the table map. “I know it was my idea, but…” 

“But?” Maedhros was still watching Fingon’s. 

“But I get a bad vibe from him, I dunno.”

Maedhros rested his head in his hand. “From your expression I can tell you're coming around to my way of thinking.” 

“You’re right.” Fingon slid off the table and into Maedhros’s lap, crushing the last of the origami. “We should elope.”

Maedhros pressed his nose to his favorite spot behind Fingon's ear. “We can’t."

“Why, you fickle _snake_.” 

“If we elope, we’ll miss the bachelor parties being thrown for us and you know how that will disappoint the members of our wedding party.”

“I love you but you are such a naif,” said Fingon, reaching for the hemlock. “You know there’s a 75% chance your brothers are going to kill you, right?”

"I think it'll be fun," said Maedhros unconvincingly, and then, "You know that's not the poisonous kind, right?"

 

* * *

 

“This is going to be a gawdawful bachelor party,” said Caranthir. 

Maglor turned an anguished face on him. Two months into preparation he’d had to scrap all his plans because Maedhros had said jokingly, “Listen, anything you do will be great, so long as it isn’t somewhere with live jazz.” 

His Plan B had been undertaken in desperation with a highly depleted budget, the canceled band having claimed a hefty deposit.

“Hey,” said Celegorm, as Maglor struggled not to burst into tears. “Give him a break. It’s not his fault he doesn’t have access to a yacht like the other best man does.” 

“It’s not even her yacht,” said Maglor thickly, looking at the sad collection of beer and party hats lying in the wet sand. “She only has access to it for the party because _Finrod_ – ”

“His family is really allowing their boat to be used for a bachelor party? What a mistake.” Curufin perched on the only sand free spot on the beach – a driftwood stump – and looked askance at the beer cans. “I’ve been on that boat and I promise you Fingon will cause thousands in damage just by walking on the deck.” He crossed his legs to brush a bit of kelp from his shoe. “But given its worth, the security is laughable.”

Caranthir looked up. “Oh yeah?”

“I don’t care how laughable the security is,” said Maglor. “ _La reine des cygnes_ is still going to be more fun than a kegger with no keg and fewer than ten people on a beach that smells like – ”

“Shit,” said Celegorm. “ _La reine des cygnes_?” His accent was atrocious. “It’s not _that_ boat, is it?” He pointed.

Moored to the pier adjacent to the sad little beach was a sleek, white-hulled boat.

“Yep,” said Curufin after a moment.

“Oh good,” said Maglor morosely. “Now Maedhros will have to _watch_ as a far better bachelor party with his husband-to-be takes place not twenty feet away.”

“Boy,” said Celegorm, “did you and I have different takeaways from this moment.” 

Caranthir started scooping beer cans into his arms. 

Curufin was already setting off down the beach. “I have the lockpicks. Do any of you know how a boat works?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured that just shy of a year from DWMP's conclusion was the right time to finally start work on these buggers' wedding.
> 
> I'd call it a birthday gift to me, but really it was a kick in the ass to get _on it_ already.


	2. What Ships and Men Wilt Thou Spare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But when they were aboard, Maidros the eldest of the seven (and after all fiancé to Fingon ere grand larceny came between) spoke, saying: 'Now what ships and men wilt thou spare to return, and whom shall they bear hither first? Fingon the valiant?'
> 
> And his brothers were like ‘lol dude no’ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which stealing boats is always, always a good choice.

"Do you have any identification on you?" The police officer was jotting busily in his notebook and didn't look up at the clanging noise Maedhros made as he tugged at the handcuffs holding him to the lamp post.

"You know who I am!"

"That's not really the point," said Gwindor. "Procedure is procedure. Do you have any identification on you?"

"I must object," said Curufin, from a safe distance, "to the excessive use of force in restraining my brother - "

"He was belligerent and aggressive," said Gwindor, rubbing his jaw. Maedhros hadn't hit him but he had tripped in the charge and his head had collided solidly with Gwindor's face. "And honestly, it's for his own safety."

"Ridiculous," said Maedhros, sliding down the lamppost.  

"Plus you all may have committed grand larceny, so - "

"Officer, listen, I - Oh my god, what have you done to my fiancé?" Fingon was striding across the road, Aredhel and Finrod close on his heels. "We're dropping all charges, if there are charges, we're _family_ and – Are those _handcuffs?"_

"Fingon, you're not supposed to see me before the wedding," said Maedhros weakly, and tried to pull his shirt over his head to hide his face.

"Oh, you idiot. Are you okay?" Fingon tugged Maedhros upright and tugged his shirt back down, rubbing his wrists beneath the cuffs. "Honey, what on earth did you do?"

"He's targeting me b'cause I'm marrying you," mumbled Maedhros.

"Why the hell would he - Oh, hey Gwindor. Long time no see. Are you brutalizing my future husband out of jealousy?"

"What? _Jealousy?_ We hooked up nine years ago," said Gwindor, going red under his hat. "And I would never – I can't believe you'd ask – This is so inappropriate, my sergeant's going to kill me. I just responded to the call from Harbor Patrol, okay? We're short-staffed because it's graduation weekend and honestly I expected drunk college students, not whatever this is." He looked hopelessly towards his squad car. "What a night to be doing this single-handed."

"Please uncuff my fiancé."

"He's afraid to unleash the wrath of my vengeful fists," said Maedhros from the ground. "As he should b - "

"Shut _up_ , baby."

"Listen," said Gwindor. He jabbed at his notebook a couple more times. "Can someone just tell me what happened?"

 

* * *

 

It had been a very fine night.

Finrod strolled down the pier next to Aredhel, a hat cocked low over his eyes and some very expensive scotch in his hand. Aredhel, who was in spats and a tuxedo vest, checked her watch. They had about twenty minutes before Fingon was due to arrive with Turgon for his bachelor party.

"Have you told the exotic dancers where to go?" Finrod twirled his hat on a finger.  

"I was told if I gave you enough to drink you'd know what to do."

"That's – probably true,” said Finrod. “But might I point out that I’m not the one wearing a tuxedo vest and no bra? People who live in cleavage houses shouldn’t throw thongs, is all I’m saying.”

Aredhel just grinned and tweaked her neckline. “I thought the tie was a nice touch, don’t you think?”

“Yes, very distracting. So all that remains is to make sure the caterers left everything as specified, and to hang the...banner..." Finrod's voice trailed off.

"What?"

"It's not here."

"What's not here?"

"The boat."

"Ha ha, very funny." Aredhel grinned and then caught sight of Finrod's white face. " _What._ "

After a moment of frantic peering about, Aredhel pointed out towards the dusky seas. "There! That's it, right? White and with the pointy bits."

"Do you mean masts? Irissë, honestly, your nautical vocabulary leaves something to be desi - Yes! Yes, that's it! Has it come unmoored?" Finrod patted desperately at his pockets. "Where's my phone, I can call harbor patrol - "

But Aredhel was squinting at the distant deck, and the small figures on it. "I don't think it's come unmoored."

"Then what happened to it?"

Aredhel clenched her fists and drew a deep, slow breath, clearly trying to keep her temper under control. Finrod had to admire what it did to her - vest. She spoke the words through gritted teeth. "Pirates. Cousins. Bastards."

“No.” Finrod’s eyes widened and he looked out to sea again. He said, half to himself, “But I _asked_ him what their plans were and he never _mentioned_ \- ”

Aredhel kicked a rotting crab into the harbor and cupped her hands to her mouth, any efforts to keep her temper abandoned. “Yeah, you better run!”

All that came floating back over the still and midnight waters was Maglor’s lilting voice.

“How do you steer one of these things?”

 

-

 

Celegorm surveyed the deck and beheld that it was Good. He flattered himself to be an expert on the topic of parties, and one that involved yachts, expensive alcohol, and stealing things from Finrod might even qualify it it as Very Good.

Despite these truths he observed that their small party of revelers was less revelsome than it might be for of them, one stood aside. Slumped, actually, long legs flopped out before him as he sprawled by the mast and looked sadly at a bottle.

"It's been five minutes," said Celegorm, sitting down next to Maedhros. "You can't possibly be this much of a lightweight."

"We may have," said Azaghâl, "hem. Gotten him started on the car ride over."

"Whoops," said Telchar.

"It's your bachelor party!" Celegorm clapped Maedhros bracingly on the shoulder. Maedhros listed to the side and spilled some of his drink. "Look alive."

"We stole my fiancé's party," said Maedhros, in a voice heavy with woe. "Just. stole it."

"Commandeered it," said Curufin, who had found a bottle of Prosecco in the well-stocked bar and was enjoying carrying it around and looking superior. "Who is to say that there are limits set on how best we celebrate our eldest brother's impending nuptials to - "

"Fingon," said Maedhros in a small, sad voice. "What about Fingon? All alone on the beach... Wondering where the boat is... Thinking I stole it from him and left him… alone onna beach..."

"We shouldn't have used the good bourbon on him," whispered Telchar. Azaghâl stuck an elbow into her ribs.

"We should go back for him. I'm gonna - I could - Swim? Or. Lifeboats."

"This is terrible," said Curufin to Celegorm. "He is _partying wrong."_ He turned back to Maedhros. "Stop it," he ordered. "Have fun."

“I wonder what Fingon is doing right now?” Maedhros rubbed his eyes and took another drink.

"Don’t worry about it," said Celegorm, sticking one of the cigars he'd discovered into his mouth. "Have fun! Here's something that'll cheer you up: Moryo found a grill.”

 

-

 

"Aw, stop cursing," said Fingon. "Honestly, it's not that big a deal. We've still got the scotch and I'm always game for lying on a pier and getting tipsy with my best friends and some nice cigars." He smiled encouragingly. "We still have the cigars, right?"

"They're on the boat," said Turgon.

Fingon's smile faded a little. "Well. That’s fine! Tobacco kills, I’ve heard." He glanced out to sea where the white ship glinted on the waves, a soft red glow lighting the clouds from below. His smile vanished entirely. "Is that smoke?"

Finrod, who had been languishing on the edge of the pier, leapt to his feet. “They set my grandparents’ boat on fire!”

Fingon had gone pale. "They'd better not have set my fiancé on fire."

“In this family,” said Turgon lugubriously, “all things are possible.”

 

-

 

There was no sound but the creak of oars and the lap of water against the gunwales. Curufin made a small, seasick noise from the bow and Caranthir said “Shhh.”

Their rescuer in the middle of the boat said nothing but plied his oars and fixed his gaze on the dim horizon.

“Well,” said Celegorm. “At least we didn’t get arrested this time.”

 

-

 

“And that’s when harbor patrol called me,” said Gwindor, checking his watch to confirm the time. “Their volunteer said that no substantive damage had been done to the boat, it was mostly a grease fire on the deck.”

“I cannot believe,” said Finrod.

“I can,” said Turgon.

“At which point all six individuals were rescued from the ship – ”

“Seven,” said Celegorm. “Right?”

“ – and taken into the custody of one Ulmo, no last name given.”

Finrod and Turgon exchanged looks.

Gwindor finished writing and looked around at them. “I took a statement from the Ulmo character, don’t know how to translate grunts and ‘where the sea wills it’ into my report but whatever, he and his rowboat seemed to have places to be and I wasn’t going to argue. I think I have a _rough_ notion of what happened – ”

“It was a very complex night,” said Curufin, who had been trying to catch Finrod’s eye. “Not a matter of straightforward theft, really – ”

“You stole your cousin’s boat, got faced on said boat, set a grill on fire trying to cook too many sausages at one time, and were subsequently rescued by a bartender in a canoe.”

Curufin gave up trying to get Finrod to smile at him. “Fine, so it wasn’t _that_ complex.”

Gwindor exhaled. “But since no one’s pressing charges, that’s all I need from you. And if that’s all you need from me, I’ll unlock ironfists here and carry on with my night.”

“Thank you,” said Fingon. “For not arresting anyone and not letting my fiancé assault a cop. Would you like to come to the wedding? As a sign of how very grateful we are?”

“No,” said Maedhros from the ground.

“No,” said Gwindor. “Thank you.”

As Gwindor unlocked Maedhros and Fingon pulled him to his feet, Celegorm was still counting on his fingers, scanning the crowd, and then counting again. “Seven,” he said under his breath. “I could have sworn we were seven…”

 

-

 

Maglor woke up alone, still drunk, face down on the beach.

“Arglpfz,” he said, and spat out a mouthful of sand. He lurched to his feet, putting out a hand to steady himself, and observed that his shirt was mostly gone and his pants were full of seaweed.

“Arg,” he said, and set off down the beach, one hand shielding his eyes from the rising sun, the other out and swaying to keep him upright. He staggered through the dune grass, startling nesting seabirds who rose, shrieking, their wings nearly clipping his ear.

“Ah, hush,” he said, and tripped. On hands and knees he blinked, studying the thing an inch from his nose: a knobby nest of down and twigs, with two squalling grey chicks in it.

“Abandoned,” said Maglor, tears welling in his eyes. “Poor _things_ .” Tenderly he reached out to scoop up the two chicks – one of them landed a peck on his finger that drew blood – and cradled them to his chest. His torn short laid bare his skin and other sensitive anatomy to their questing beaks, and he winced as they snuggled close in evident affection. “ _Ouch_. No, darlings, stop, oh bless, you must be so hungry and scared. Ow, no, I can’t nurse you – Maybe I will have to bottle feed, isn’t that what one does with – abandoned squirrels? Oh my head. Don’t worry, I will be the best – the best caretaker – ” Getting clumsily to his feet, his arms full of wriggling grey bodies, he set off down the beach the way he had come, oblivious to the screaming of the gulls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another boat excursion ruined by a sausagefest.


End file.
